All Wrapped Up
by Ursula4x
Summary: Neal witnessed a murder in Seattle prior to his being caught by Peter. He tells Peter when he sees a picture of the mobster who did it and has to fly to Seattle to be a witness. Slash
1. All Wrapped Up

Title: All Wrapped Up In You

Author: Ursula  
Rating: rating: R  
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke.

Notes: Written for White Collar Kink Mem. For those who say Neal doesn't whine, yeah, he does. He does at the hotel. He does later when he gets frustrated with Peter. He also sulks. I don't question that he has courage, but he isn't stoic guy and I am glad.

Spoilers: Book of Hours  
Warnings: Pre Slash  
Word Count: 2394  
Summary: Peter and Neal fly out of town to testify on a case.

All Wrapped Up In You

"I don't know why I have to go" Neal said. "You've said yourself that no one will take me seriously as a witness."

"Because you have a subpoena," Peter said. "What's wrong? You've been whining about being stuck in New York."

"I don't whine and I love New York and I don't want to go to Seattle," Neal whined, all without taking a breath.

"You're going. I'm going. I'll make it up to you. Find someplace decent for dinner."

"Okay," Neal said, conceding. He looked out the window and added, "I hope we don't get snowed in. Elizabeth would kill us."

"You looking forward to Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah."

Elizabeth had invited Neal before Peter could ask her if he could bring Neal home for the holiday. June was hosting a hoard of relatives and needed Neal's room for a couple of grandsons. Elizabeth was spending so much money 'making the guest room comfortable for Neal' that Peter suggested he install some bars, put in a hard cot and a urinal-sink combination so Neal would really feel at home. His shoulder was still sore from his wife's punch. Elizabeth packed a wallop.

Looking out the window, Neal avoided Peter's gaze, amazing since he could look in your eyes and utter such sweet lies that you would forgive him when you discovered he stole something precious; your heart if you weren't careful.

"Thanks, Peter," Neal said, voice very soft.

"Elizabeth invited you."

"She's your wife."

"I noticed that," Peter said. It was his turn to look away although all he had to look at was the corridor, having yielded the window seat to Neal. He sighed, crossed his legs toward Neal. Bumped Neal. Apologized. Tried to cross his legs the other way, but was too uncomfortable.

"We both want you," Peter said. "I mean wanted you to come." Oh god in heaven. One last attempt to salvage lies from truth. "To Thanksgiving, I mean."

When Peter looks, Neal is still turned away, but his shoulders are shaking and Peter hardly needs the reflection in the window to see that Neal's eyes are closed because he is trying so hard not to laugh.

At least, Neal wasn't sulking.

OooOooO

When they got off the plane and went to baggage claim, the carousel quickly brought Peter's battered old suitcase that had seen as many investigations as he had. Each time the wheel went round, it was increasingly evident that Neal's leather suitcase was nowhere.

"They lost it," Neal said.

"Calm down, calm down," Peter reassured. He took Neal by the arm and led him to customer service.

The woman in charge tapped away at the computer, made a few calls, before saying, "I'm sure it was simply loaded on the wrong plane. We'll track it in no time."

"You have to be kidding," Neal said.

An hour later, they walked out to catch a cab sans Neal's suitcase. Mixed rain and snow pelted them and the Seattle denizens were semi-hysterical as if facing a white-out blizzard. They spontaneously allowed their cars to skid although Peter could see no ice on the road. They fought like gladiators for the cabs.

Tiring of waiting, Neal stepped out away from the curb. Promptly, a kamikaze taxi driver veered in close and splashed Neal from toe to head and all placed in between. Peter's success at withholding laughter was both a tribute to his self control and his realization that Neal would have snapped, either sitting down and wailing on the curb or throwing Peter in front of the crazed drivers still fleeing the storm.

My hat, my suit!" Neal yelped.

"I'm melting, I'm melting," Peter replied without sympathy.

The next taxi driver stopped, eyed Neal and drove off, not interested in having his seats soaked. Peter groaned and waved a twenty until the next driver stopped.

Taking Neal's arm, Peter dragged him out of the cold into the exceptionally dirty taxi. Neal was already shivering to the point of chattering teeth. "We'll go to the hotel and I am sure your things will be on the next flight. There's a dry cleaner at the hotel and all will be well."

"I'm freezing," Neal said.

"You'll be fine," Peter replied, but took off his topcoat to wrap around Neal. The splashing water had penetrated Neal's coat which had not been fastened and Neal was soaked to the skin. Neal took off his sodden coat and gratefully let Peter guide his arms into his coat.

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said. "But I have nothing to wear when we get to the hotel."

"I want you naked in bed anyway," Peter said.

That managed to gain a half smile and Neal replied, "That would warm me up."

Peter smirked, having planned the tease since his inadvertent double entendres.

The taxi was warm and Neal shivered less. Peter thought a hot bath, some chocolate, and being ensconced in bed would repair the damage nicely.

OooOooO

"Body heat," Neal suggested from his dramatic dying lady pose in the queen bed on his side of the room.

"Neal, you do not have incipient frost bite," Peter said.

A knock interrupted to announce the arrival of room service to bring the hot chocolate and take away Neal's mud splattered clothing. Peter carefully carried the tray to Neal's bedside and offered him a cup.

Still looking slightly blue-lipped, Neal sneezed hard. Peter chided, "You can't get a cold just from being soaked for a few moments."

"Can to," Neal argued, claiming his chocolate.

"You could just get under the covers for a little while," Neal suggested, waggling an eyebrow persuasively in his best Otis B. Driftwood style.

"Fine, fine, if that's what it takes to shut you up."

Peter stripped down to tee shirt and boxers. Neal laughed. Which was a charitable way to describe his giggle.

"Your boxers have Labrador puppies on them," Neal pointed out.

"And I have five more pairs just like them," Peter said. "Get used to them."

As soon as Peter climbed into Neal's bed, he had an armful of icy and still shivering beauty. He was too concerned to fend Neal off and set to rubbing Neal's arms and chest vigorously until the shivering stopped. Pleased with himself, Peter said, "I do so know how to take care of you."

"What?"

"Elizabeth said I was careless with you," Peter explained. "That I was getting you into trouble and that I was going to get you hurt."

"Did you remind her that you hauled my ass out of prison?" Neal asked.

"Yes," Peter said, "But she wasn't impressed. It's hard to impress a wife, Neal."

Neal said, "Prison was like being buried alive for me, Peter."

"I know." Peter replied.

"Now you tell me how I need to cowboy up. Don't do the crime, if you can't do the time."

Peter ran his fingers through Neal's freshly washed hair and shook his head. "I know I said that. You think it never bothered me? The kind of things I imagined happening to you? I worried."

"The guards were fairly decent. I felt horrible when I escaped for getting some of them in trouble. There were some creepy guys… I was scared a few times, but I managed to get away from them before the worst happened. And if it had, I could have handled it."

"No one handles that," Peter said.

"But it didn't happen, Peter, and here I am, in a nice hotel bed, getting warmed by the best of the FBI, and snuggling. I like to snuggle. So all's well."

Peter sighed. The trouble with Neal is that he expected a happy ending and was stunned when he didn't get one. On the other hand, maybe Peter really could make one for him.

Neal was already asleep. Peter rolled him gently off his arm, but didn't go to the other bed. He knew he was smiling as he watched Neal sleep and he didn't care. Peter pulled the covers up around both of them and went to sleep.

OooOooO

The incipient cold had been psychological as Neal hadn't sneezed once this morning. He showered again and was now eating breakfast, wearing nothing but a towel. Peter could not look at all that skin and the way the towel kept slipping and he could look no place else. He was getting obsessed with Neal's belly, which was a surprisingly muscled stomach. He had never seen Neal exercise, but six pack abdomens don't just happen. Although it wasn't just the muscles, it was Neal's belly button which was the neatest, sexiest little whorl that Peter had ever seen and he kept imagining twirling his tongue around it on his way to more traditionally sexual parts.

"I'll go see what is keeping them with your suit," Peter said. He had better before he needed a long cold shower.

OooOooO

As soon as Peter showed up with Neal's receipt, the manager crept out. "I am so sorry. It was a beautiful suit. I feel as if I have destroyed the Mona Lisa. It was the new man and he is fired. We, of course, will make good on the loss."

"Can I see it?" Peter asked, his voice, autopsy-room-horrified, but he knows he will have to report to Neal that the suit was beyond salvage. It was and so was Neal's coat.

There were holes burnt in the jacket. Something singed yet green on the seat of the trousers that had so loving cupped Neal's really great ass. Neal's right coat sleeve was raveled up to the elbow.

If it wasn't for the trial that would start in four hours, Peter would have flown home and sent Cruz back for Neal. He was a coward when it came to bringing bad news.

OooOooO

"I won't," Neal said. "As if anything you have…not only will it not fit, but I couldn't, I really couldn't…"

Neal was shuddering like an affronted virgin faced not only with rape, but with public deflowering.

Peter felt hurt. He knew his suits were not to Neal's taste, but they weren't that bad.

"Okay, that's fine. You have two choices. You walk naked to the store with me or you wear something of mine long enough to pick out something for yourself."

Neal thought. He stood up, strolled towards the window and asked, "How cold it is outside?"

"It's still snowing," Peter said, shoving a set of his clothing at Neal.

Taking the suit as if it was covered with slime, Neal brightened and said, "We could have something sent in. I'm sure there's some place in town that would do that."

"Put….These…On…Now."

"OR ELSE"

"Or what, you throw my ass back in prison? You know you won't do it and I know you won't do it. Elizabeth certainly knows you won't do it." Neal was unbearably smug for a guy standing there with his towel slipping…almost…no, definitely fallen to his feet.

Have mercy. Peter couldn't do it; he couldn't not look. He gazed. He gawked. He ogled from head to toe and twice everywhere between.

Finally regaining his composure, Peter tried, "Or I will take you over my knee and give you the long hard spanking you deserve."

"Would you really, Peter? How wonderful!" Neal breathed in a porn star voice, but his cock started to fill and gave a twitch that was going to give Peter's sex dreams an entire new realm of subject matter.

"And you will be uninvited to Thanksgiving dinner."

Neal drooped. All of him drooped.

"Okay, if you're going to be that way. Let me have that…thing," Neal said, a shudder of repulsion going through him.

OooOooO

Dressed up in Peter's suit, Neal was unexpectedly adorable. He was a little boy playing daddy and lost in the too wide jacket, the sagging pants; he was so cute that Peter wanted to show Elizabeth. He had the distinct urge to coo.

Having no idea what he was doing to Peter, Neal took reluctant step after reluctant step toward the nearest mirror. Finally reaching his goal, Neal looked, cringed, and cast a woebegone gaze at Peter.

"Oh, Peter, I can't. I can't be seen like this. Nothing fits. I look like a bad joke."

Those blue blue eyes were panicked. It should have been funny, but it really wasn't. Neal was genuinely distraught.

Peter suddenly turned another page in the ever growing, eternally diverting book of Neal Caffrey. He saw that Neal, despite his vanity, had no idea of his intrinsic worth. He did not have confidence in the grace and symmetry that was his body or in the lively beauty of his ever changing face. He really thought that clothes made the man.

Peter approached Neal, put a tender hand on his shoulder, then reached and tipped up Neal's chin. He let it out, all the maddening attraction he felt and tried to deny, the way he loved to watch Neal and sometimes couldn't help but to show how much he enjoyed the performance. Better yet, Peter tried to say with all of his being that he loved the Neal that was only reflected in his pretty face and agile body. That the measure of Neal was not in his suit, but in his heart and his soul: the Neal that let Peter take credit to look better to his boss, his wife, his subordinates. The Neal that risked his life to keep the Book of Hours. That risked his freedom after that because he wanted a miracle for a sick dog. That hopelessly, foolishly, gallantly was willing to risk another four years in hell because he thought a worthless woman was in danger.

Peter was not much on talking, but he seemed to get his points across. Neal straightened and even Peter's bedraggled suit grew swan like elegance around him. Peter let go of Neal's chin and reached down to roll up each suit sleeve a little tighter. He knelt at Neal's feet as if he was going to propose and worked on the hopelessly long pant legs. With every touch, Neal grew more confident and the enchantment cast glamour over a suit that even Peter knew was drab.

"You will spend enough money for something decent?"

"Yes," Peter assured. "You think I would let my partner testify when he didn't look his best?"

His wallet was already screaming, but, for once, Peter ignored that little voice that whispered of poverty nipping at his heels if he relaxed his grip on his budget.

Peter held his coat for Neal. Neal paused, his eyes troubled. "Peter, if I wear your coat, what will you wear? You'll be cold."

"You'll keep me warm, Neal. You always do."

Peter held the door for Neal and when they walked toward the elevator, Peter couldn't help grinning to the whole damn world.

He was all wrapped up in happiness.

The end


	2. Gild the Lily

Title: Gild the Lily

Author: Ursula

Rating: rating: R

Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke.

Notes: Sequel to All Wrapped Up

Spoilers: Book of Hours

Warnings: Pre Slash

Word Count: 2394

Summary: Neal needs a new suit and Peter is buying

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sequel to All Wrapped Up

Outside, where the world was not narrowed to Peter's gaze, Neal was uncomfortable. He pulled Peter's coat tighter around him. He tried his usual mega watt smile on a lovely young thing passing by. She started to respond, but then merely looked puzzled as she took in the folds of Peter's coat billowing around Neal and the trouser leg coming unrolled. She looked away as she passed by.

"Come on, we'll turn that pumpkin right into a coach, Cinderfella,"

"I look like a bad joke, Peter," Neal said and then specified, "A really bad joke like that one."

"So it's okay to look like a cartoon, but not a joke?"

"I'm Superman without his cape," Neal jabbed back, stepping around a pool of vomit and the drunk from whence it came.

"What about his tights?" Peter asked.

"What?" Neal asked.

"So if he lost his cape, would he still have his tights?" Peter asked, taking Neal's arm and guiding him away from a belligerent looking punk who was slouched under a canopy.

"I don't know. It was just a simile," Neal replied, a little irritated.

"If I was a superhero, I would refuse to wear tights," Peter said, distracting Neal.

"What would you wear?"

"A suit like yours," Peter said. "Maybe a cape though."

Neal grinned. "I would love you in a suit like mine."

"Ah, you don't love me for myself."

Without looking, Peter felt the loss of Neal as a colder space where his partner should be.

Looking back, Peter feels guilty. Guilt is a second skin for him. He can get everything right working a case, but relationships are another language to him and he feels like he misplaced his tourist guide to speaking Neal. What did he say this time?

Catching up, Neal touches him. Neal is always touching him, coming up beside him, leaning into him, over him and it drives Peter to distraction. Because he likes it too much.

"I love you because, as Elizabeth would say, you are so lovable there is no other choice."

His feet kicked out beneath him, Peter is left stranded. That is not how the game is played.

Neal reprieves him and tugs his arm. "The store is just ahead. You know I will need two suits. I can bear off the rack long enough for court, but, I will need to have something fitted for tomorrow. And some jeans for when we're not in court."

"I'm not buying you a trousseau," Peter argued, happy now that they were on terra firma.

"Ah, damn, Peter, I was hoping that you were going to finally make me an honest man."

Puckish smile. Neal gave him that one. Peter will take it though, delighted.

"Had we but world enough and time." Peter quoted.

"Let us roll all our strength and all our sweetness up into one ball and tear our pleasures with rough strife." Neal spoke those lines with such hunger and longing that Peter feels them to the bone.

"That's not fair," Peter utters in quiet protest of the way it made his heart skip a beat.

"All's fair in love and war," Neal said, sweeping through the door Peter held open for him.

OooOooO

Peter looked at his watch. Time was moving in some warped sequence. Pinching his nose does not help the headache that was Neal shopping for off the rack.

"Do you have something in an orange coverall?" Peter asked the salesman who has his hands all over Neal's ass.

The man's eyebrows rise nearly to meet his bleached blond hair. "Sir?"

"He's a philistine," Neal said, "ignore him."

"Just call me Phil for short," Peter cracked.

"You could help more," Neal said. "The blue or the charcoal?"

"Blue," Peter said. "It is flattered by your eyes."

"Don't you mean it flatters his eyes?" Blond guy asks.

Helpless wave at Neal's lapis blues. "Do they need flattering?"

"I see," Blond guy says, looking too long.

"I'll take the blue and have the charcoal tailored for me," Neal said, peering at his ass in the reflection. Blond guy is looking at Neal's ass too. Blond guy needs a swift kick to remind him that he is just a shop clerk and does not have the right to gaze on Neal.

Neal has found a beautiful Burberry coat. It's not what he is used to, but it will do. He twirls as he passes a mirror. Peter's smile is soft. He knew if he could see a picture of his expression that it would match perfectly his indulgence of Elizabeth. He knows and he can't really fight it. He's not really trying.

Neal is careful now of the traffic. He slides into the cab that comes to his beckon. Peter's gaze is wary as he scans the street around them. He's not looking for rogue cab drivers with intentions on Neal's wardrobe. He's not a witness to the crime for which Neal has been subpoenaed to testify. He's here as a guard, duty he had demanded and Hughes had granted without much argument. Neal seems to have no clue how grim the threat is to him.

Peter would caution him, but the DA is concerned that Neal would snap under the pressure if he really understood.

Oddly, the DA is wrong. Neal plays his role and plays it beautifully, but he's no coward. In fact, Peter finds him flying straight into candle flames. It's a full time job catching him before he is singed.

OooOooO

Because Peter was not a witness, he can stay in the court room. There is nothing for him to do but watch Neal. He should be bored, but he isn't. There's something thrilling at seeing Neal strut toward the stand and every stitch on his body is something that Peter has purchased for him except his shoes. Elizabeth bought those for Neal's birthday, spending too much and getting such an extravagant hug that Peter should really have been jealous. He wasn't though. He admires them together. They are a perfect matched set, but Peter feels confident that he too has his role, the book between the gilded ends that gives reason and purpose to beauty.

Neal crosses his legs and the ankle monitor is showing. Peter stirs uncomfortably and points with the tip of his finger at the left leg. Neal was watching him and uncrosses the monitor discreetly out of sight.

Giaraldi's attorney is well known for defending mobsters. His appearance in a trial is as good as a confession, but he still has an appalling ability to free his clients.

It helps Joe Esposito that witnesses disappear or can't remember what they saw or recant even if it means going to jail.

Esposito will be surprised. There's that side to Neal that is unbreakable. There's that part of him that rises to a cause.

Peter suspects that he captured Neal not only because Peter was clever, but because Neal was attracted to what Peter represented. Neal does understand right and wrong. It's the law he fails to get.

Lauren told Peter that Neal once told her that he loved Peter's certainty, that if Peter was the law that things would work better because Peter had justice in his heart not just a book of rules. Lauren smiled and said, "He has a crush on you."

Peter shrugged it off with a comment about Neal conning Lauren, but he believed it. Even before he met Neal in person, there seemed to be a link between them that grew stronger with each near miss and every scrap of information that Peter sniffed out. Peter was half hard when he handcuffed Neal; it disturbed him and loaded him with guilt, but it was true. Made him wonder if he needed help. He was so relieved to find that only happened with Neal. Other felons might be a triumph to catch but didn't garner that totally unacceptable response.

"Mr. Caffrey, is it not true that you are a convicted felon?"

"I am," Neal said.

"And what were you sent to prison for?"

"Forging bonds," Neal said, with a swift glance at Peter.

"And escaping before your sentence was up?"

"I was not tried for any such crime," Neal said.

Which was part of the arrangement as well. No charges, but they could still be filed.

"Did you not make a deal for yourself as an informant to avoid serving additional time for credit card fraud, stealing a car, and escaping?"

Neal looked offended. Offended looked cute on him. Neal said, "I am hardly an informant. I consult."

"What do you consult on?"

"Art, history, various topics," Neal said.

"And your qualifications?"

"Graduated from Cooper Union, Masters from Columbia, won a scholarship to Byrdcliffe." Neal said.

And it was all true. None of it forged. Neal had been a meteorite until the scholarship. Something happened that not even Peter knew at the workshop and the first rumors of forged paintings rumbled from that time on. Neal would not tell him and Peter would not ask, least Neal tell him something that he would need to report to Hughes.

Watching Neal, Peter felt his heart sink. He realized that he would risk almost anything to keep Neal out of prison. His life depended on the charming, the irresponsible, and the morally ambiguous conman.

"Do you not in fact accompany Peter Burke as some sort of expert on criminal behavior?"

"You could describe what I do in that way," Neal said.

"And how do you describe it?"

"He's Batman, I'm Robin, we solve crimes," Neal replied nonchalantly.

"Your honor, can you direct the witness to not engage in such disorderly responses?"

"You asked him to describe his work; Mr. Caffrey did, if in colorful terms."

The judge was a friendly looking black woman. She seemed amused by Neal.

"Did you not in fact make a deal with the FBI to avoid prosecution for escaping from prison?"

"Yes," Neal said.

"Would you not in fact make any claim, indemnify anyone to stay out of prison?"

"No," Neal said. "I would not."

"Come now, Mr. Caffrey, do we need to review your record?"

"Defense is badgering the witness," the prosecutor said.

"Mr. Esposito, we have established that Mr. Caffrey has a felony on his record, albeit one not affiliated with any violence or organized crime. Do you have any questions relating to the crime that the witness attests to?"

"Alleged crime," Esposito wedged in.

"None for now," Esposito said, "I am asking for a recess to research points of law brought by this witness."

"Granted," the judge said, looking at her watch.

This was an arraignment, testing the waters so there was no jury as yet. The court was quickly dismissed and Neal free to return to Peter's side.

Jan Jassup, the prosecutor, beckoned Neal and Peter, attending his protégé as Peter was coming to think of his former albatross. Jassup was a Nordic beanpole, topped with hair so blond that it looked white. He had blue eyes, but they were a lighter shade that displayed his sharply intelligent gaze. He had a thin blade of a face all angles of sharp nose, protruding chin, and high cheekbones.

"Mr. Caffrey, sit," pointing to a chair in the attorney meeting room.

Neal glanced at Peter who nodded to him. Neal flopped in the chair.

"We spoke about your testimony at length."

Neal's puppy eager expression was endlessly endearing.

Jassup hesitated. He might be impatient but Neal was disarming.

"Please be serious on the stand," Jassup lectured.

"The judge said it was okay," Neal replied. "What did you want me to say? Peter and I are partners. We work together. And I would look so adorable in tights and a little mask."

"Mr. Caffrey."

Peter could have told the man that he may as well surrender. Neal was a quick learner, but you could not get him to stop being what he was and Peter really didn't want to try anymore. He liked the lip even when he corrected it. He loved the way Neal preened beneath praise. He even had learned to love the way Neal could not stop playing Robin Hood.

The prosecutor had given up. He said, "Just one more thing. Mr. Burke, get him to wear this, all of the time when he is in public."

This was a flak jacket. It was a good idea. Peter said, "I will. Here, Neal, let me help you adjust this."

"No," Neal said, standing up after Peter fetched the jacket for him to put on. "No, I just started to feel human again even if the suit is off the rack. That atrocity will ruin the cut of my suit."

"A bullet is not your kind of accessory either," Peter said.

Jassup's phone was ringing. He looked at the phone and said, "Take care of it, Burke. I'll see you both tomorrow."

The door shut behind the prosecutor, leaving a tableau of one frustrated FBI agent, one flak jacket, one sulking ex con.

Crossing his arms, Neal said, "I won't wear it. You're my protection, my Superman. That's all I need."

"I thought I was your Batman and you were my Robin," Peter teased gently. Honey, not vinegar.

"All my super heroes rolled into one and I am still not wearing the jacket."

Thinking, Peter absently undid the Velcro fastenings and took a step toward his partner. Neal stepped back, unfolding his arms to fend Peter off.

"Are you going to make me sit on you and strap this on you?"

That made Neal look somewhat interested. He said, "Maybe."

It sounded dangerous, remembering that hard on Neal sparked when Peter handcuffed him.

Neal was smiling.

"What would it take to get you to wear this?" Peter asked.

Neal started to shake his head then a cunning expression alerted in his eyes and the smile grew larger and brighter until Peter felt like Little Red Riding Hood, confronted by the big bad wolf.

"What?"

"I will put it on and wear it in exchange for a kiss," Neal said.

"No, absolutely no," Peter said. "Are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind-no!"

Neal stepped out of the corner and started to stroll for the door. "Fine."

Holding up his hand, palm outward, Peter weakly said, "Wait."

Neal turned back around. He controlled the smirk just barely.

"One kiss? No uh groping or hands going where they don't belong?"

"Peter, you really are no fun."

"Neal."

"All right, no groping on my part anyway and your virginal boxers are safe with me, but I want a real kiss. With tongue and on my mouth not my cheek, forehead or other maiden aunt location."

"And you will wear the flak jacket at all times unless we are in our hotel room?" Peter said.

"Okay," Neal said, stepping nearer.

"Flak jacket first and kiss back at our hotel room," Peter said.

"Promise?"

"You have my word and you know that's good," Peter said resignedly.

"I do know that, Peter," Neal said and his expression was so sweet that Peter could have kissed him anyway, not needing a devil's bargain to do it.

OooOooO

"I look chubby," Neal said, glancing at his reflection as they waited for a cab.

"The more of you to love," Peter deadpanned, avoiding the mock punch aimed at his arm easily.

"It better be worth it," Neal said.

"Not that being that much safer is worth it."

"The jacket won't stop them from putting a bullet in my brilliant brain and pretty face," Neal said.

That twisted in his Peter's gut. He said, "Most shooters go for the big target, chest not head." Peter could not resist a dig despite how worried he was. "Although with that swollen head of yours..."

"Peter, I do not have a huge ego. I just know what I have," Neal said. "Hey, a cab at last. Come on, Peter."

The cab veered toward them and Neal took an eager step toward it. Peter followed, something wrong nagging at him. Someone was in the passenger seat; the door was opening, metal extruding. His hand on Neal's arm and jerking him to the side, gun firing, Neal's grunt of pain, the astounded look in his eyes as he realized that he had been shot.

Peter held onto Neal, keeping him on his feet as he fired back. There was movement from all sides and Peter felt terror for the two of them.

"FBI!" one of the newcomers shouted.

Hands pulled both Peter and Neal to the ground, covering them both in best bodyguard fashion.

Next to Peter, Neal complained, "It feels like someone kicked me in the chest. It still hurt, Peter."

"And my new suit you bought me is ruined."

There were more guns shots, sirens, and chaos, but eventually Peter's colleagues let them rise, Neal shaking, holding his hand over the blast site in his flak jacket, and mourning the bullet hole in his suit.

"You can get more clothes, Neal, your heart is irreplaceable."

"Agent Lawrence," a stodgy man introduced himself. "Organized Crime. You and Mr. Caffrey are under my watch."

"Thank you," Peter said, although he was peeved that they didn't think he could protect Neal on his own.

"The prosecutor was concerned about Mr. Caffrey after his testimony. Esposito made a bunch of calls during the break after Mr. Caffrey testified the first time. We're moving you both to a safe house."

"That's good," Peter said. He was still holding onto Neal's arm and Neal was making no move to step away. He had helped Neal up and could not seem to loosen his grip on that wiry and precious arm.

"Vans over here," Lawrence said. "Are you sure that Caffrey is all right?"

"I guess I'm okay," Neal said.

"Because you're still hanging onto him."

"Oh, yeah," Peter said, reluctantly letting go.

"It better be a nice safe house!" Neal said. "and I need good coffee not that dredge they serve at your office."

"He likes Italian Roast," Peter explained.

"Marley, have the house stocked with Italian Roast coffee and pick up the suitcases from the hotel."

"I have a suit ordered," Neal said. "It's at Plato's."

"Marley, add that to your list," Lawrence directed.

Marley looked young enough to be still in high school. He was the obvious probie of the team from his bristling blond crew cut to his plain black tie, his academy graduation tie tack sparkling with his pride in the midst of all that polyester. "Yes, sir," Marley said, slinking off for his errands.

Sitting next to Peter in the van, Neal started to undo the flak jacket.

"When we are at the safe house," Peter reminded, putting his hand over Neal's still vibrating fingers.

"I just wanted to see how badly I'm bruised. It feels like I have something broken," Neal said.

"It always feels like that," Peter explained.

"First time you get shot at?" Lawrence asked, amused.

"No, but I don't intend to make a habit off it," Neal said. "Being a criminal was safer."

"We'll protect you."

"Seems like Peter did a good job of that," Neal defended.

"We'll just provide a little help, okay?" Lawrence said.

Peter thought he liked Lawrence. The agent seemed to have the right touch with Neal.

OooOooO

"Is there any surveillance in this room?" Peter asked as Lawrence showed them the comfortable room with two double beds.

"Just on the outside hallway and windows," Lawrence said. "Do you want video in here?"

"No, just wanted to know in case I want to scratch something," Peter said.

"That's vulgar, Peter! Elizabeth would be shocked," Neal interjected.

"You know nothing of married life. They get used to it," Peter said, controlling an urge to rub the arm El socked when he burped in her presence.

"Shouldn't have to get used to it. Marriage should not kill romance," Neal argued.

"Remind me to keep the boy away from my wife. Like I need some guy talking like she does," Lawrence said. He added, "Let me know if you need anything. I already am having a new jacket sent in for Mr. Caffrey.

"Alone at last," Peter said after Lawrence shut the door.

Neal was peeling off the flak jacket, tossing it on the bed. He took off his vest and shirt which were undamaged. The red of the bruise was spreading outward from the deep center where the bullet would have pierced his heart. Neal touched the mark with fascination. "I would have been dead."

And that shook Peter to his core. He stepped behind Neal and said, "You would have been. So now do you understand why you have to wear the jacket?"

"Yes," Neal said, turning suddenly right into Peter's arms. "But I still want my kiss."

"A bargain is a bargain," Peter agreed as if this was of scarce import, just a teasing little charade between them.

"Don't cheat me," Neal breathed, eyes closing, leaning close.

"I won't," Peter said, bringing Neal nearer yet. His hand cupped Neal's lovely soft hair. The other hand did not know where to settle, moving restlessly over Neal's back.

His traitor hand finding Neal's round ass to its liking, Peter indulged himself.

Neal's lips were sweet with vanilla flavored lip gloss, probably the only thing vanilla about him. The lips were soft, tender, and yielding. His tongue was a wild thing that Peter's own must capture. Neal's sigh as Peter gave into the kiss teased him, startled what he had to concede was a moan from him. Breathless, Peter knew the kiss must end and willed his lungs to bide their time because it seemed that he did not want the air so much as he wanted Neal's lips, his tongue, and so much more.

Reeling from lack of oxygen and blood rushing everywhere but his head, Peter let go and gazed upon Neal, half naked, hair wild although Peter did not recall gripping it, lips scarlet, eyes flashing. Neal undone.

His kiss did that. That casually ventured agreement and it was the first taste of the apple, so sweet, so addictive that the hunger would never stop until it was consumed.

Neal must know that he had, as always, reached too far. That he was tap dancing on a tight rope. That Peter wanted to throw him down on the bed and strip down every last thread of his elegance to leave him naked and still more grace-clad in gorgeous raiment of his silken skin, perfect sculpture of bone, and contradiction of muscled glory.

Neal drew a deep and shaky breath. He reached for his shirt and said, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Peter tried to control his racing heart, his burgeoning erection, the need that raged through every molecule of him. He turned away in lie profane and agreed, "Don't know why I made such a big deal of it."

But Neal knew. Peter knew.

And the silence in the room only made the sound of blood raging molten all the more obvious.

Sometimes a kiss was not just a kiss.

Sometimes it's an explosion that will not be contained.

Detonation.

The end


	3. Comes Clad In Beauty

Title: Comes Clad In Beauty

Author: Ursula

Rating: rating: R

Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke.

Notes: Sequel to All Wrapped Up and Gild the Lily

Spoilers: Book of Hours

Warnings: Slash

Word Count: 6703

Summary: Neal testifies against a mobster and risks his life

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sequel to All Wrapped Up and Gild the Lily

OooOooO

Peter wasn't sleeping. He glanced across the distance between the two beds. Four feet, four and a half maximum.

Moonlight had crept through a broken slat in the blinds and had found Neal's face. It plays softly across the features still fine although blurred by sleep. There's a reason Peter likes to watch his partner sleep. Neal was in constant motion and Peter considered that it was the ceaseless glitter of movement and intellect that fascinated him. He doubted the beauty that he sees.

It was not true. Neal was still beautiful asleep. His features were fine, his nose was straight and well formed, his mouth was lovely…and still a little kiss bruised. Peter hoped that Lawrence assumed any redness was the result of the scrimmage during the attack. Neal's hair was thick, brown, lustrous, and wavy. His forehead was broad befitting the treasure of brain it shields within. His brows were thick, a swift brush stroke each, but well executed. His eyes closed, his major weapons were disarmed, but he had lovely lashes and dusky lids. His chin was just what Neal would have designed if he could have planned his own face; it looked like a movie star chin with the mildest of clefts. It was strong without overwhelming his other features.

Peter's lengthy perusal was interrupted by a low sound from Neal. Neal startled and sat up in bed, straight up as if pulled by puppet strings. Now he scrambled out of bed, tangled in bedding, nearly falling.

Peter was out of bed in time to catch Neal. Neal tried to fight Peter's hands away, whining in an eerie childlike wordlessness.

Waking, Neal sagged into Peter's embrace. Peter realized he has been holding his breath and lets it rush out. "What was that?"

"I don't know. I don't know," Neal replied. "I hate sleeping alone."

"What do you do at your room at June's?"

"Moz is almost always there. He sleeps on the couch, but I hear him snore even when I am asleep. If he's not there, there's wine."

"You shouldn't drink too much," Peter said. "You'll ruin your skin."

"That's true," Neal agreed, making no move to escape Peter's arms. "Let me sleep with you. No funny business."

'If I give him an inch,' Peter considered, 'I'll want to give him eight. Okay, honest, seven and three quarters. Most days."

It was an act of a mercy, Peter decides, to which of them, he will not delve deeply. Neal was not going for macho although he can do macho when he pleases. He snuggled back, not settling until his ass is in the curve of Peter's groin.

Despite thinking he was never going to sleep, Peter fell asleep almost instantly. He had what he wanted, his arms around Neal and knowing that his partner, his prisoner was captured, safe, and loved.

OooOooO

The morning was a busy bustle. Neal dressed in the charcoal suit, putting the flak jacket on without urging this time. Morning coffee, an affectionate phone call to El and Neal asked for the phone after Peter was ready to hang up. Peter was not sure whether he should be amused or jealous to hear his wife and his partner flirt over his phone.

Lawrence was a cautious man. They exited the house through the attached garage. There were two identical cars with blacked out windows and two more outside. They shifted constantly as they drove.

Neal was delighted. "Look, Peter, we are a shell game."

Despite the worry, Peter was entertained as well. The first time Peter decided to work at home with Neal, Neal had demonstrated the game being played by Peter's suspects by enacting a shell game with a Styrofoam cup, a Big Gulp container, and a coffee mug. Elizabeth had been amused and Peter was tickled when Neal somehow replaced the crumpled napkin which was the shell with a twenty from Peter's pocket.

Fondly, Peter said, "Yes, we are, Neal. Hope they are good at the game as you are. Neal, do you want to talk about that nightmare last night? Was it about getting shot at?"

"I am getting used to that," Neal replied, quickly glancing at Peter before looking away.

"You tell me about a shopping trip ad-nauseum and won't tell me what makes you wake up crying?"

"I don't remember," Neal said. "Don't worry, Peter. I am happy most of the time. You make me happy, you and El, Moz and June. In a lot of ways, I have more real friends now than I had when I was free."

"Now I know you're lying," Peter replied. He was well aware that Kate and Neal had a fabulous few years, threw great parties, hobnobbed with minor celebrities, and were surrounded by other beautiful people.

"You're wrong. I have always had Moz. I had Kate," Neal said. "The rest…well, none of them came to visit me in four years. What does that tell you?"

"That they didn't know you very well?" Peter said.

"Not like you know me," Neal replied. He smiled, "I think you know me better than anyone but Moz."

Interesting. Moz, not Kate. Neal's eyes flickered his way and said, "You can love someone without having the kind of communication El and you have because hardly anyone ever gets that."

You know if Neal had wrapped all his purloined goods in a package and added himself as the ribbon on top, he couldn't have beat those words as a present.

OooOooO

The day in court was grueling. Peter was used to the endless legal maneuvers and the interruptions, the give and take between attorneys and the judge.

A lot of time at the Federal Court house where most of Peter's cases were tried, there were comfortable moments in between hearings. Prosecutors and defense attorneys spent more time together and constantly negotiated. It wasn't like this for Jan Jassup and Joe Esposito. The rivalry between them was real and heated. No prosecutor liked Esposito. Esposito was scum.

Peter noted that Esposito seemed to be stretching out Neal's time on the stand. It made him uneasy, thinking that it was intended to avoid damaging testimony yet prolong the time spent in the courtroom. Neal had been sitting very primly in the stand when his testimony started but as the day went long; he leaned on his hand, eyes becoming weary. Finally, Jassup said, "I think my witness is tired. Let's wrap it up for today."

The judge nodded, scowling at Esposito. She said, "Mr. Esposito, your delaying tactics are noted. Please come to court tomorrow with a better attitude."

Neal walked to Peter and said, "I don't know why I'm so hungry, but I am. You would think that sitting up there all day would kill my appetite, but I could eat ..."

"Deviled ham?" Peter suggested.

"No, not that, but steak would be good," Neal replied.

"That can be arranged," Jassup said. "We'll have something sent in."

"In?" Neal said. "In? You expect Peter and me to spend all the time we're in Seattle locked up in that safe house?"

"Shh," Peter said. Esposito was still in the court room.

"What? He must know we're in a safe house," Neal said.

"Please, Neal," Peter said. He tugged at Neal's arm and dragged him out the side entrance. They would take the elevator to the basement where Agent Lawrence would meet them.

OooOooO

Neal leaned against the wall elegantly. He did most things as if someone choreographed him even slouching. "I have to ask myself. Why did I tell you about Giaraldi?"

"You told me because you saw his picture in the Seattle PI and realized he wasn't dead," Peter said.

"Well, I thought he was dead!" Neal argued. "Look, what I saw..."

"When you and Kate were planning on stealing the Matisse," Peter said.

"When Kate was working as a maid for Giaraldi and I was just innocently visiting my girl friend," Neal said virtuously.

"Right," Peter said, "Which led to you being in a closet in the master bedroom."

"Hey, she was the upstairs maid," Neal said.

"Come on," Peter said, taking Neal's arm again to lead him out of the elevator. Lawrence nodded and his agents spearheaded the way out the door. They moved quickly to the three identical cars, all bullet-proofed.

Peter and Neal climbed into the middle car and the shell game started again. Neal put a hand over his eyes and said, "All fucking day and I barely got through how I ended up in that closet."

"You better not have perjured yourself," Peter growled.

"We were just checking out the bed," Neal said. "I couldn't believe that the guy had a heart shaped vibrating bed in his bedroom then we heard something coming so Kate starts changing sheets while I hid. Giaraldi came in and ordered Kate out. He was reaching for the closet door when this other guy marched into the room and started arguing with him. He was talking about a hit, his cousin's kids. He kept saying, 'Who the hell kills babies? The kids were just babies!' Then the guy pulled a gun on Giaraldi. A minute later two big goons burst into the room and grabbed the man who was yelling. They held the poor man while Giaraldi went crazy on him. He grabbed a knife and started carving the guy up. It was terrible, Peter. I wanted to help but Kate was in that house. What the hell was I supposed to do? I called in an anonymous tip but the next thing I knew Giaraldi's house had supposedly burned down with him in it. How was I to know that he just went into hiding?"

"And then you saw the news about his arrest," Peter said.

"For tax evasion," Neal said. "Classic, but murder is even more classic. Peter, he gutted that guy. He pulled his intestines out and tried to stuff them into his mouth. I could hear the man trying to scream and the sound muffled by his own guts. It was terrible. It still gives me nightmares."

"I don't know if it was helped, but the man Giaraldi killed was his second in command, Paul Acerbo. He was no angel," Peter said, watching Neal's face for his reaction.

Shaking his head, Neal said, "It doesn't help. I hate violence, Peter. I abhor it. Whoever the man was, the way he died, the pain, the indignity, that wasn't something anyone deserved. From what I've read, Paul Acerbo wasn't Giaraldi's only victim nor were all the other ones he killed guilty of anything more than being someone's relative. I can't help get him for killing the LaGrazza family- that was Acerbo's cousin's family, but I can nail him for Acerbo and I will."

Peter felt a moment of dizziness. Yes, this was Neal too, fearless not because he lacked the ability to feel fear and not because he had nothing to lose because Neal cherished life, drank it down like fine wine. This was Neal willing to risk his life to bring a killer to justice.

"I want to do this, but not to be a rat in a trap, Peter," Neal said unhappily. He looked at Peter and said, "You know when I was alone with Jassup that he offered me witness protection?"

Peter's first reaction was anger. Neal was his. Jassup had no right to offer that. Calming himself, Peter realized it made sense. Neal would be in danger if he didn't take the offer.

"You would have that tracker off permanently," Peter said. "You might have more freedom to look for Kate."

"Or not, it's standard to the agreement that you give up all of your old ties. I'd lose everybody, Moz, you, Elizabeth, June, everyone. If I ended up in Albuquerque, how would Kate find me? If she wants to..." Neal's voice shook a little. "You and El, you mean a lot to me."

"Enough to take a chance of being an easy target?" Peter said.

"Enough," Neal said.

"Okay," Peter said. "You probably could have made a good deal for yourself, Neal"

"I have a good thing going," Neal said. He let smile tease Peter. "It could be even a better thing, a lot better."

Peter looked Neal right in the big blue eyes and said, "It could."

Ah, Neal was silent. Peter folded his arms and watched out the window, not allowing Neal a chance at having the last word.

OooOooO

"And new potatoes, not baked," Neal said, pointing at the menu. He had fussed through ordering and complained that take out food never did itself justice.

"Eating out is not worth getting shot over," Lawrence said. "I won't let your steaks get cold or the salad get warm, Neal."

Peter noted that first name basis. It never took long for most people to take to Neal. When he had captured Neal the first time and was hauling his prey home, one of his agents was so taken with him that he never left her alone with Caffrey.

"Thank you, Martin," Neal said, bestowing one of his mega watt smiles on his protector.

"Neal, here's your clothes," the team's probie said, handing Neal two bulging bags. One was the suit and the other must be everything else that Neal must have.

Grabbing the bags, Neal said, "Good, I'm going to get changed. I'm still wearing Peter's underwear."

Marley, the probie, looked at Peter and back at Neal then at the floor, getting redder and redder.

"All his stuff was wet or lost on the plane," Peter explained.

"Yes, sir," Marley replied. "I wasn't asking."

Deliberately, Peter moved closer to Neal who just stood there smiling and said, "And I'm not telling."

Peter followed Neal upstairs.

OooOooO

"That was naughty, Peter," Neal said.

Funny when Neal said naughty he made it sound like a good thing.

"That's what probies are for, getting coffee, being the one to search the dumpster, and being teased," Peter explained

"God knows what he's thinking," Neal said, hanging his suit jacket. He shook out his new jeans and said, "These really should be washed first, but I want to change now." He hung up his trousers carefully.

Peter's briefs sagged on Neal's slender hips. Neal wriggled out of them and added them to the dirty laundry. He liked those boxer briefs in silky knits because he hated to have underwear lines spoil the fit of his clothing. Peter had pointed out that looser styling could avoid that problem which simply got him a raised eyebrow.

"When do you work out?" Peter asked, studying the incredibly developed stomach muscles of his partner.

"Every day," Neal said. "Not so much as I did in prison and not so much as before I went to prison when my comfort depended on my physical abilities from time to time."

Changed into a soft wool and silk blend sweater in a quiet shade of blue and the new jeans, Neal was still elegant, but now looked more like a young college professor than a male model. He said, "Tomorrow, I don't care how, but I am not sitting here all night. We are going out. Surely there must be one safe restaurant in Seattle."

Peter wasn't going to argue with Neal. He would put his head with Lawrence and see if they could find a way to indulge Neal without endangering him.

Downstairs, Lawrence was not in sight. The safe house seemed deserted. Neal grabbed Peter's arm, cautioning him. Neal had hair trigger instincts which Peter had learned to trust. Peter drew his gun, giving Neal a swift glance, willing him to stay behind him. Someone had left a baseball bat by the stairs. Neal took it in his hands. He might abhor violence, but he was not totally averse to defending himself.

A moment later, Peter blasted away at a thug with a gun. He heard a struggle behind him. Another thug had grabbed Neal. Peter saw a knife and then Neal somehow broke the grip with a swift jab of the bat backwards. Twirling, Neal swung the bat, connected to the man's head, and his opponent fell. Neal sat on the guy, immobilizing him.

Martin Lawrence staggered into the room and aimed at Neal with his gun. Or that's how Peter saw it until the man coming up behind Neal fell. A moment later, the room flooded with agents.

As Lawrence sat cussing and subjecting himself to first aid for a creased skull, his probie stood miserably in front of him, admitting that he had not taken evasive maneuvers coming back here from picking up Neal's custom fitted suit. "Sir, I didn't think that anyone would connect the clothing to Mr. Caffrey."

"Come on, Neal," Peter said, sparing the probie strangers as witnesses to his humiliation. "We may as well pack. We're moving."

OooOooO

The new safe house was by Lake Washington in a very secluded setting. It was surrounded by a well groomed lawn, lit like a playing field. Peter and Neal were eating at last, Neal silent for once, not complaining about the reheated food.

Lawrence had been sent home and his right hand woman, Laura Charlie, had taken over command. She was from a local Native American tribe, one of the few Indians in the FBI. She was lean, not tall, all firmly compacted muscle and dark energy. The shamed probie, Marley, was still on duty. He had arrived with the take out food just as the attack occurred and partially redeemed himself by slamming into the assailants get away car, injuring the driver and preventing any escape.

Most of the prisoners turned out to be local thugs, not associated with organized crime. The one Lawrence had shot dead was the exception. He was Abel Ricozza, a nephew of Giaraldi and a made man.

Seattle might seem like an odd area for the original Mafia, but it was also home to Russian organized crime and an incredible variety of Asian varieties of the same. Nearby city, Tacoma, was once notorious for having law enforcement in the pocket of the Mafia. Even smaller port city, Everett, harbored members of the syndicate.

"You okay?" Peter asked, noting the set of Neal's mouth and the way Neal's blue eyes gazed fixedly at his half finished plate, his cheek leaning on his hand.

"No," Neal said honestly. "I'm not. I can't get used to it. In my old life, Peter, I can hardly think of a time when I saw violence. I planned ahead and mostly it worked. I used to think that you could always avoid direct confrontation with danger. I liked the edge, but I didn't need to have it shoved right up in my face."

"I'm sorry," Peter said. He felt guilty for the number of times he was not able to protect Neal from danger and even more sorry for the times he sent Neal in, knowing that he was sending someone into danger who was not armed, not trained, and not really an agent who understood that sometimes you paid the ultimate cost.

Standing up, Neal cleared his place. He had insisted on having their meal on real plates with real silverware, not in Styrofoam containers.

"You want a drink, Neal?" Peter asked. "I can have someone find something."

"No, seems as if we need clear heads. What I'd like to do would be to go for a long walk, but you don't have to tell me that's out of the picture. Could we go to our room?"

"Sure," Peter said, watching Neal wash his dishes. "They would have done the dishes."

A fierce look quelled Peter. Neal said, "Give me yours."

Once the dishes were washed, Neal rolled his sleeves back down and tugged at Peter's arm. "Let's go up stairs."

Peter didn't argue. Neal knew what would work for him. Peter didn't think that Neal was flirting. He just wanted to be away from stranger's eyes.

The new bedroom was nicer than the last. There are heavy curtains and the glass is bullet proof, but even so, Peter steered Neal away when he tried to look out at that vast stretch of lawn, currently being dusted with white snow.

With a resentful look, Neal undressed. He normally wore pajamas or sleep pants. In his underwear, Neal searched through the bags, clad only in those clinging boxer briefs, grumbling when he found neither type of sleep wear. Peter handed him a pair of his sweats. He had packed two for some reason. Neal sighed and said, "Gee thanks. I thought I was done with hand me downs for a lifetime."

It was a bit cold in the room so after a moment, Neal scooted under the covers of the king bed in the room. Peter supposed that Lawrence assumed that Peter would stay up watching or who knew what Lawrence was thinking when he assigned this bedroom to Neal and Peter. Tired, Peter wanted to sleep. He put on his sweats, the ones that El hated, with the missing cord, the frayed hem, and the hole just to the right of the groin. As Peter got into the bed, Neal fingered the worn through spot and said, "I could tear these off with you with my little finger."

"I'm safe," Peter said. "You're not into necrophilia. Sleep, Neal. Tomorrow won't be any easier."

"I don't know if I can," Neal sighed.

"How about a back rub? That works with El," Peter said.

Mischief dancing through the weariness and stress, "And, of course, what works with El would work with me."

"Yes, yes, I do think so," Peter said. "Other than a slight anatomical difference."

"Hey, watch what you are calling slight! A guy could get his feelings hurt," Neal replied, but he sat up.

Peter sat on the bed, Neal settled on the edge of the bed, between Peter's legs. "Go get the lotion from the bathroom," Peter directed.

Neal moved quickly, obviously worried that Peter would change his mind. He returned with the cheap lotion, his tee shirt tossed to the side.

There were bruises Peter had not noticed besides the big one from where Neal had been shot. You almost always bruised through the flak jacket. If you were unlucky, the perps had armor piercing rounds and then no padding could protect you.

There were finger nail gouges on Neal's arm and a big splotchy bruise on his side. No wonder Neal couldn't sleep. Peter growled with frustration and felt like a failure. "You should have told me you were hurt, Neal."

"I've been hurt before, Peter. Had to fight," Neal suddenly laughed, "I had to fight for my honor, Peter. The guards, for the most part, liked me and I know you asked the warden to make sure he kept a good eye on me, but even the best run prison has gaps. Look how easily I found one when it was time for me to escape."

"Did you... did they?" Peter ached. He did the right thing, capturing Neal, putting him in jail, ending the game between them that had frustrated Peter so completely and made him feel alive so completely. He had tried to do the decent thing by assuring that Neal was sent to an 'escape' proof prison that was also well supervised.

"It came close enough to feature in my nightmares. One time, if Tommy Hambly, my favorite guard, hadn't come to get me because he wanted me to draw a card for him, I wouldn't have been able to fight them off. There were three of them and they were big guys. It would have been bad," Neal said.

"Neal," Peter started and he shook his head, trying to dash the image from his head.

"Peter, let go," Neal said. "I am a very smart guy and I knew the risk. The game had three endings, me in prison, me dead, or me free and rich. I never considered another alternative and now you have me truly and wonderfully caught."

Unable to resist, Peter kissed the back of Neal's neck, which swan-like curved downward as if in submission to him.

A sibilant hiss of breath sounded that Peter did not try to analyze. Peter warmed some of the lotion in his hands and started to rub it into Neal's tense-held body. He tried to put all of his feelings into his touch. His confusion, his affection, the frustration of wanting something he should not be able to have, the terror of losing something precious, El or Neal or possibly his own self-respect. Mostly, Peter filled his heart with tenderness and sent it through his arms, imbuing his hands with all the warmth he felt for Neal.

They did not say a word. Peter thought it wrong that he felt arousal as he touched Neal. It was so wrong after what Neal had just disclosed. He had no control over his body's response, which had nothing to do with what Neal had told him and everything to do with his hands slipping over Neal's smooth flesh. He would not act on it. He wouldn't.

After Neal slept, relaxed from the massage, Peter slipped out of the bed and went to the bathroom. He was still half-hard, but wouldn't let himself act on his feeling. He took a swift ice cold shower and had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling. It took care of the problem however.

When Peter got back into bed, shivering like hell, Neal turned toward him and whispered, "A warm hand, a friendly hand would have been so much better then a cold shower."

"Go to sleep, Neal," Peter said, praying for virtue as he had not done since he was a tall alter boy and had fallen in love with his beautiful young nun teacher.

OooOooO

The morning came early. Neal was already awake when Peter opened his eyes. For someone who liked to play indolent and elegant, Neal woke at the same ungodly hour as Peter did. Neal peered into his eyes and asked, "Can I use your shaver?"

"Be my guest," Peter said. He smiled at the thought. He set his razor to a close shave so the scruff that Neal usually fancied was going to be absent today. He liked clean shaven Neal. But then he liked scruffy Neal too.

"Thanks for the new suit," Neal remarked.

"Jassup paid for it. I just remembered what you liked," Peter said.

"El will fall for me if I train you how to shop for a gift," Neal said.

"El likes pretty and charming," Peter said. "If I didn't have her first, you would have a chance."

Neal laughed and said, "I don't know. From the way you felt last night, I would have stiff competition."

"Shhh!" Peter hissed in reproof, but he also smiled guiltily.

OooOooO

They arrived back at the courthouse through the usual means. Peter left Neal with Jassup and Lawrence who was already back on the job. He wanted to make sure that court house security was using appropriate measures. Several years past, an attorney had been shot down at the city courthouse which was a few blocks away. Since then Seattle used reasonable amounts of security at all of the court buildings, but Peter felt he had to see for himself.

Long line of impatient people, dressed for court or not, stamped as they went through the scanners. There were extra security on duty and searches were carefully being done, not allowing excuses for heavy zippers or excessive jewelry. Peter watched a while longer before returning to the court room where Neal was to testify.

"Crap," was all Peter could say when Esposito switched questions again.

"Are you an art thief, Mr. Caffrey?"

"I have never been convicted of that crime," Neal said, with a glance at Jassup who was scowling.

"Relevance?" Jan tried.

"I think it would make a difference to the judge and jury as to what Mr. Caffrey was really doing in that house. Perhaps Mr. Acerbo who was an associate of Mr. Giaraldi surprised a thief in the house," Esposito said.

"The witness may answer," The judge said.

"There was no art in that bedroom. My girl friend thought it was hilarious that Mr. Giaraldi had a heart shaped vibrating bed and brought me to see it."

"There was a valuable Matisse in that house," Esposito replied. "Were you after the Matisse?"

Peter expected Neal to take his fifth amendment rights, but instead, Neal sighed and said, "Yes, I was. The Matisse belonged to a client, a wealthy Jewish family. It was stolen by the Nazis and somehow Giaraldi acquired it. I was acting as an agent for the family."

"Which was illegal," Esposito said. "Have you been offered immunity for your testimony?"

"No," Neal said.

"Oh, come now," Esposito said. "Why would you take a chance like this if you don't get something out of it?"

Before Jassup could object, Neal leaned forward, piercing Esposito with his blue eyes and said, "Because your client is a monster who ripped a knife through a man who was supposed to be his friend's belly and then took his squirming intestines and stuffed them into the guy's mouth."

"Objection," Esposito yelled.

"You asked why," The judge said.

The rest of Neal's testimony went by in a blur. Peter knew that the forensic evidence supported Neal and one of Giaraldi's associates testified that Acerbo was upset because his boss had ordered a hit on the LaGrazza family. The wife and the kids who were murdered with Frank LaGrazza were Acerbo's cousins. He hoped it was enough.

Lawrence and his men took Neal back to the safe house. Lawrence climbed in the front seat of the car with Agent Charlie driving. Turning around, Lawrence said, "That took guts, Neal."

"Or rank stupidity," Neal said.

"Jassup will get you immunity," Lawrence said.

"Do you think so?" Neal asked.

"I'll recommend it," Lawrence said. "I was one of the agents who were on the scene of the LaGrazza murders. The youngest kid was an infant. He and his Mom were shot by the same bullet as she turned to flee. The five year old lived for three days with a bullet in his brain. It wasn't necessary. They could have set up the hit at LaGrazza's business down on the docks. Even in the Mafia, there are things you don't do."

"Do we have to go to the safe house?" Neal asked. "I need out. I need to see the sky."

Peter remembered how Neal had continued to breakfast on the roof long after the mornings turned much too cold for that to be sensible. He had been like a bird in a cage set free to fly in freedom. He said, "I think it's worth the risk, Agent Lawrence."

"Already arranged something," Agent Charlie said.

"Really?" Neal said with delight.

"Yes, and it's safe too," Agent Charlie said. She drove downtown where they boarded a small cruise ship.

The cruise ship carried them toward Tillicum Village on a small Blake's island. They were regaled with narration about Seattle's origin as a lumber port, about Chief Sealth, who saved settlers when other Northwest natives rose up against them.

Sotto voice, Agent Charlie said, "Sealth sold out his own people and was rewarded by the loss of every piece of his tribe's land."

Neal grinned and said, "Afraid that's an injustice I can't remedy. Land won't fit in my satchel."

Charlie laughed and said, "It's okay. Just got my grandmother's voice speaking through me for a moment."

His hand on Neal in a modified come along grip, Peter said, "Let's go on deck for a moment."

Eyebrows raised and lowered, but Neal allowed himself to be led on deck. They were alone up there since the sky was producing that dread mix of snow and rain guaranteed to chill you to the bone. Neal shivered and asked, "Are you instinctively trying to get me sick so you have an excuse to nurse me well?"

Which was not such a bad idea. Peter answered, "I am sure you would let me coddle you even if you were well."

"I do like a good coddle," Neal said, eyebrows making that innocent statement an innuendo.

"What was that about, Neal, why would you set yourself up for possible prosecution?"

"Because you and Jan both told me that if I perjured myself that I would screw up the case against Giaraldi," Neal said. "I knew I could take the fifth, but I was watching the jury. It was like I was on trial. I thought if I took the risk like that they would know that I was telling the truth."

Peter had been watching the jury too and agreed. "You know there will be very little I can help if they charge you with the theft."

"I know, Peter," Neal said. "Believe me I know." His look was fierce as he gazed into Peter's eyes. "You know I had to get him."

"I know," Peter said.

His arms wrapped around Neal and held him tight. He didn't want to let go. As long as he held Neal, Neal was safe.

OooOooO

On the shore, they were greeted with cups of clam nectar and steamed clams, fresh from the water and served in their shells. Neal lapped his as neatly as a cat. Peter spilled a little on his tie.

The inside of the mock long house was beautiful red cedar with Northwest Indian art in red and black on them. Before dinner, the guests were encouraged to shop. Neal showed Peter a petite silver band he was sure that El would like. Peter bought it and a pair of small silver cuff links and a tie clip that he saw Neal eyeing. Neal bought a basket of Huckleberry products for Jones who had a sweet tooth. He added a long screen printed scarf for Lauren. Peter saw the handmade Cowichan sweater that he had admired go into a big bag and smiled. He knew it was for him. He wouldn't be able to wear it to work, but it would be great to wear this winter. He could see himself in it, walking in the cold with Neal.

Neal was nearly giddy. Peter had seen Neal like this before and understood that Neal was frightened about the prospect of going back to prison. He did what he had to do, but that didn't mean that he didn't have regrets. All Peter knew was that he didn't want to lose Neal, not to prison and not to running away. He wanted some magical chariot in which to whisk Neal and El away and possibly a job where he could go out and slay dragons every day.

When everyone was herded into the dining room, the air was thick with mouth watering odors. They were served thick slabs of salmon, a green salad, and baked potatoes. There were more clams available and ears of corn on the cob. It was simple food, but abundant and well prepared. They finished with Huckleberry tarts which Neal liked so much that Peter was going to give him his. A pretty waitress quickly found another of the tarts for Neal and he rewarded her with a charming smile.

There are dancers throughout the dinner. It wasn't what Peter thought of when he though of Indian dancing. There were elaborate masks, including an enormous one shaped like a bird with a gigantic beak. The beak opened to display another mask within. There were copper decorations flashing in the fire light. The leaps from the dancers were as powerful as any ballet. The hand motions of the female performers who were graceful in dresses made of pounded and woven cedars reminded Peter of Hawaiian dances. Neal was lost in this, forgetting his problems as he sank his senses in this new experience. Peter watching him, thinking of the four years Neal has already spent caged from life, resolved that Neal would not go back to prison. He would not let it happen no matter what he had to lose.

OooOooO

After the performance, Agent Charlie told them that she had an idea which Lawrence had approved. There was a tribal resort across the sound from Seattle. It suited Neal with its luxury. It had a spa and hot tubs. It had gambling and was a self contained world. Peter only growled about the setting because he thought Neal would enjoy it more that way.

They had a suite, but, like clock work, Neal always left his bed and slept in Peter's. Peter would have had to admit he liked it if Neal had stopped and ask Neal to sleep with him, but Neal was never one to deny himself a harmless pleasure. Although Peter was not sure how harmless this was. Soon they would go back to the real world. It was a good world after all. El was in it. Then again, Neal didn't share his bed when they were in real time. Peter pondered wants and needs. He wants them both. He needs them both. He decided that his biological imperative was to accomplish that goal. Fortunately both of his loves were hedonists. It wouldn't take much to persuade El.

OooOooO

Two scant days before Thanksgiving, Giaraldi was found guilty. The jury returned a finding for aggravated circumstances due to the way Acerbo died. Peter was fairly sure part of the verdict was for the LaGrazza children, but he would take justice anyway it was offered.

After the trial, Neal was called to a meeting with Jan and the judge. Peter went because no one seriously tried to stop him from going.

Neal was, as hoped for, offered a deal. Technically, the deal involved Neal identifying any other Mafia members that he saw in Giaraldi's house during the time Kate worked there. As it turned out, none of the five men that Neal identified were up for prosecution. Two were dead. One was in witness protection himself, and the last two were in hiding. A deal was a deal though and Neal was granted immunity from the Matisse theft. Thank God, Peter thought, shelving potential plans for breaking his partner out of prison and going on the run with his wife and the man he loved.

OooOooO

As they left for the airport, a very polite airline employee announced that Neal's luggage was finally found, having gone on to Portland, Oregon where it had a lovely time without him.

On the plane, Neal said in a gloating tone, " Thanksgiving, glazed ham, golden turkey, wild rice stuffing, and pumpkin pie."

"And deviled eggs," Peter said.

"But no deviled ham!" Neal said.

Peter pretended to think about it and said, "Only if there is left over ham."

"I'll eat the entire thing if I have to," Neal said.

Just before they landed, in a quiet little voice, Neal asked, "Can Moz come?"

"I wouldn't dream of having a family dinner without Mr. Haversham," Peter said.

Neal's smile was gorgeous.

Peter thought Neal looked handsome in his designer clothing, but he liked him best when he thought of him risking all on the stand to win justice for a man he did not know and children whose life had been thrown away on a vendetta.

That Neal was clad in the beauty of his soul and that was the way Peter loved him best.

The end


End file.
